Chapter Seven: Apples to Apples
Of course, I did not have any grand epiphany while sitting in my aunt's parlor. I did not expect to, either, which may have been part of the problem.
The next morning, my aunt and I set out for Market Day. We put on our gloves, bonnets, and cheery smiles, and took the carriage.
"What do you think of these uglis, Patience?" Florence asked, and picked up a couple of the fruits in question.
I sniffed one. "Not much, I am afraid. They are under ripe, but will probably molder in the heat of the day." As if my statement were a cue, Florence fanned herself.
"And, of course, they cannot compare to these fruits," I added quickly. I picked up a fresh green apple and tossed it to her. "Imported fresh from Pennsylvania, no doubt."
Florence chuckled. "Funny place we live in now, my dear," she said, and sat down on a small bench. I joined her. "How strange," she continued, "to live in some place where you have to import apples, but there are so many of these odd little citruses that the city is rotting in them. I don't know if you remember much of England, dear, but when you were a little slip of a thing, your father had a grand old apple tree outside your window. You found it an amusing little trick on us to shinny out your bedroom and sit in the tree, munching apples."
I laughed softly. The apple looked delectable, and I could hardly keep from eating it there. However, I simply placed it back in the street vendor's basket.
"I suppose it is strange, isn't it?" I said softly. "So common over there, and so rare over here. I bet they are twice as much imported than they would be at an English market."
"More than that, dear, when you can just reach out your window and have one for free!" chortled Florence. "Then again, sometimes the commoner things are the finer. You are quite right—you must compare apples to apples…or citruses to citruses."
"I suppose some people prefer apples to citruses, or vice versa?"
"And some people like both just the same. I know I like'em both in pies quite nicely." Florence glanced quickly up at me. "People are a lot the same way, you know. Not in pies, per se, but a nice…say, apple girl and a nice citrus girl are both good. Different, true, but good."
For the umpteenth time, I felt myself blushing again. I quickly rose and busied myself at a different market stall.
"I was thinking, perhaps we should have the Admiral Norrington over for dinner sometime?" said my aunt softly. "A nice lamb, perhaps, or maybe a goose would do. And, Patience dear, you may want to look at those cloths over there. I don't want to be left to the last minute putting together your wedding dress."
I spun around and looked Florence straight in the eye. "How on earth did you know?" I cried.
"You were being so silly last night, dear," she laughed. "Every time I mentioned the Admiral, you blushed and changed the subject. I knew he was in the market for a wife, has been for years, the poor man, and…"
I did not particularly care to hear much after that. I sighed, and dragged my aunt back to the bench. "We are trying to be quiet, you see. He hardly courted me at all!"
"Well, no, he did not," Florence said, a bit huffily. "But it does seem things are different now, does it not? Night girls running every dock in the Port, and governor's daughters running off with pirates! Why, I wonder what is wrong with the world?"
"I suppose…I suppose that there's less in it," I said quietly. "A lot less love, anyway. Or perhaps the problem is that there is too much of it."
A week later, James and I announced our engagement. I found it quite amusing, actually: that stuffy Beckett looked like he would bite both our heads off. We had a lovely little commencement ceremony, hosted by the Governor himself, and a respectable ball.
I busied myself with the greeting of guests in the hall for a while, then departed to dance with James. However, when I found him (after a great deal of searching), I discovered a bit of a row between him and Lord Beckett.
"You, sir, are to assist me with my search." the latter declared calmly. "It was I who put you up here, in case you have already forgotten."
"Be that as it may, your Lordship, I am a bit occupied at the moment!" cried James, as he furiously gesticulated at me. "You gave me leave to find a bride of my choice, and I intend to stand by Miss Wilcox."
"That would be quite prudent of you," Beckett said coldly. "Dark times are approaching, Admiral." His eyes met mine for an instant, and I could swear I felt ill. I am not entirely sure what I saw there, but nothing good could come of it.
Beckett swept out the doorway, past me. Faintly, James shook his head and walked toward me.
"You ought not have seen that, miss," he said, awkwardly clasping his hands behind his back. He looked like a repentant child.
"It's all right," I said. He seemed to be avoiding my gaze. "James," I said softly. He looked up and I caught his eye. "Really, James, you must not refer to me as 'miss' all the time. You will certainly get me confused with every young lady in the port."
He laughed a little at this, and gave a bow. I curtseyed, and took his offered arm. For the rest of the evening, I chose to forget the row.
I would remember it soon, though.
As James did need to set off to sea soon, something had to be done about the wedding date. Both James and Florence wanted it as soon as possible, but I protested. I finally consented for a date one month after our engagement, and James would leave with Beckett one month after that.
I realized how inappropriate all this would look, and yet I cared less and less as every day passed. Somehow, I knew I would be safe once married to James, and, with Beckett running Port Royal, I felt very unsafe indeed. People may whisper behind their kid-gloved hands, but I did not worry. They would see, I told myself, it would be all right.
I tried to tell myself that one month later, as I gazed at my reflection in the faded mirror. My dress was beautiful—not as pretty as Elizabeth's of course, but quite nice. Lord, how I wished she was there! I wanted her as my maid of honor—instead, Gillette's younger sister would serve as that. Do not misunderstand me, for I did like Ursula, but she was not my closest friend.
Then again, who was?
As I smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles on my gown, Ursula bustled into my room. "Mr. Mercer is here to see you," she said in that raspy way of hers. "He seems quite anxious."
"Thank you, Ursula," I said, distracted. I quit the room and hurried down the stairs.
Mercer stood, taciturn and cold as usual, in the parlor. I quickly curtseyed, and asked how I might help him.
"Do not worry yourself, Miss Wilcox," he said. His voice had adopted an oily tone, like molasses running over butter. I cringed a bit.
"I'm afraid you have already quite worried me," I said grimly. "If you will please excuse my rudeness, I must finish preparing for the wedding.
He swooped across the room and grabbed at my shoulders. "Consider it a warning, Miss Wilcox," he snarled. "You won't be safe at all!"
It took all of my strength not to faint in his dirty hands, but I managed it. I rose to my full height of five-foot-two and glared at him. "Please unhand me, Mr. Mercer. I have a wedding for which I must prepare."
With a disgusted snort, he tossed me to the ground. I slipped and held on to the banister for support as he stormed out the door.
Naively, Ursula traipsed down the stairs.
"Don't be so silly, Patience, what on earth are you doing down there? Come now, we must fix your hair."
I shook my head in disbelief.
I peered at James through the corner of my eye. He looked dashing, stern and solemn in his full uniform. I caught his eye, and quickly turned away.
The priest's monotone broke for a moment as I heard him say, "And if any man has an objection to this union, he may speak now or forever hold his peace."
For one wild moment, I was sure I felt James stiffen beside me. But no, the moment passed.
"As God as the most Holy Witness, you are now man and wife. Sir, you may kiss the bride," Father Conway said, crossing the two of us.
James bent forward and kissed me quickly. I must say, I was a bit disappointed for the lack of fanfare.
But, ah, look at me! I had gone from little Orphan Patience to Mrs. Admiral James Norrington. Or Patience Wilcox Norrington. I rather liked that better, I think.
James took my arm and guided me through the crowd. We held a wedding tea instead of an evening reception, which I thought was pleasant enough. Nothing as dashing or romantic as what Elizabeth had hoped for, but the afternoon was glorious, the sea cerulean, and my husband beloved.
I wish that afternoon could have lasted forever. But, of course, it did not. James and I retreated to his home--my new home. I directed his manservant to put my bags in our room, and turned to James with a happy smile on my face. He returned it weakly.
"My love," I said, "what's wrong?"
He shook his head rapidly. "Nothing. You are lovely."
"Is it her?" I asked, with a horrible certainty. "I know, I am not like her, but I can be as good--"
He put his hand to my mouth. "Comparing you to Elizabeth cannot be done, darling. One cannot compare an apple to a citrus. You can only do apples to apples, and you two are as different as night and day. Equal in all good things, but altogether different." He smiled, and I believed him.
For that moment, and that night, and I would have for the rest of my life if I had not woken up the next morning. For, you see, I received quite the surprise. The morning after my wedding night, the downfall began with one critical event: my aunt was sent to England.
All right-ey then, that ending was extraordinarily boring. Ah, well. Next chapter shall be quite thrilling, I hope!
